Lena Chen

I wrote this when I was 19 and not used to adult relationships. Thus, dating a lot of random dudes with random flaws who thought my immaturity was endearing. At the time, I was just starting to write Sex and the Ivy and still drinking equal amounts vodka and water. In other words, I had not yet acquired that oh-so-handy trait called “discretion”.

I dated an investment banker this summer in Los Angeles, and it was the best and worst decision of my life. At first, I found David’s (not his real name) Republicanism endearing and thought I could reform his soul. And despite his corporate job (being an “Excel monkey,” as he called it), I found our conversations witty enough to stomach dating a yuppie working for the Man.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when we began dating exclusively, that I realized what I found so strange about our interaction. He treated our relationship like a business transaction. He made notes on his Microsoft Outlook task list to get back to me. He signed all his e-mails with “Regards, David.” Like clockwork, he’d call every morning, lunch hour, and evening. He answered the phone with his full name. My boyfriend wasn’t predictable; he was robotic. We were sleeping together, but it was the most impersonal relationship I’d ever been in… [more]

I’m en route to my IUD followup appointment and my piece about why I switched birth control options just went up on SexReally.com. Check it out:

Two weeks ago, I ended my longest and most tumultuous relationship to date. Four years and hundreds of dollars after my first prescription, I decided that I had swallowed my final birth control pill. I tossed out my last packet, lay back in stir-ups, and got an IUD… [more]

In which I diss the cardinal first date rule:

An hour before my first date with my boyfriend, I was sitting at dinner with a friend who had a single piece of advice for me: “Whatever you do, don’t sleep with him on the first date,” she said. Though I’ve heard iterations of the same first date rule (“Don’t go home with him on the first date”, “Nothing beyond kissing on the first date”, etc.), I was surprised to hear it from my pal — especially since she’s a smart girl who’s comfortable with her sexuality. I told her I’d take her opinion into account, but rule-abiding gal that I am, I proceeded to get wasted, go home with him, and postpone penetration for a whole five hours. [more]

Some people attract commitment-phobes. Others attract loveaholics. I, on the other hand, attract a mutant combination of both: taken men who keep on looking. At first I thought this was merely a bad luck streak. But after being hit on, pursued by, or inadvertently involved with seven attached men in half a year’s time, I have determined that infidelity is not just something in the air. This is cosmic revenge… [more]

Theses and honors aren’t the only expectations of Harvard students. While the academic institution is famous for its scholarly pursuits, its pupils also have a less-publicized naughty streak. Centuries-old tradition dictates that all undergraduates must complete three tasks by senior commencement:

1. Streak in Primal Scream, a biannual naked run the night before the first day of finals.

2. Pee on the statue of John Harvard.

3. Have sex in the stacks of Widener Library.

I decided to tackle all three during my first year – in 24 hour’s time… [more]

A piece I wrote for The Boston Globe’s “Coupling” column on seeking approval from my stand-in parents:

When my mother found out during my junior year of high school that I had been secretly dating someone, she scolded me, grounded me, and forbade me from seeing him again. A strong reaction, but this was a woman used to micromanaging her unruly eldest’s adolescence. Now that I’m in college, she can only worry from 3,000 miles away that I’ll make rash romantic decisions. Little does my mother know how good a job my friends are doing in loco parentis… [more]